


Five Ways Brian and Wensleydale Grew Up

by AndreaLyn



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five of the ways Brian and Wensley grew up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Ways Brian and Wensleydale Grew Up

I.

The light glinted brilliantly in spectrums and magnifying rays and little white lines that burned the stray ant that dared wander into Adam’s path of death and destruction. Adam studied them with a refined and critical eye. “What do you call ‘em?” he frowned. “Specicles?”

“Like icicles,” Brian nodded authoritatively.

“Spectacles!” Wensley snatched his glasses back and answered primly, polishing off the glass in a great huff, methodical in every motion. Brian smirked in amusement as Wensley gave him a right good glare that spoke of just how very angry he was. “Thank you very much,” Wensley commented authoritatively. “They are spectacles and they are not to be touched! They break!”

“Yeah,” Brian grinned, lounging about on his back and plucking the barest blades of grass that remained on the ground in the Pit – a grand total of thirteen; Adam had counted once. “Like the time Pep shoved you real hard in the back of the head and they got all smashed. That was really neat.”

“They splintered,” Wensley commented scathingly.

“Like a whole firey-work show in glass,” Brian marveled wistfully, sending the grass blades into flight. “Maybe we can do it again with the windowpane at my Aunt’s. I bet we could make all kinds of neat shapes.”

“But spectacles,” Adam frowned. “It’s because you can’t see straight.”

“It’s because I see fuzzy!”

“Fuzzy,” Adam echoed, his voice thoughtful. “What if you don’t have to!” Brian sat up quickly and Wensley stared in confused horror – a state, of course, which was not new to Adam Young, for most of his ideas bordered on the countries of Preposterous and Mad. “I mean, what if you could be fixed!”

“Like…change him?” Brian puzzled through the words. “Make him see…not-fuzzy?”

Wensley looked up, wounded. “I don’t want to be changed. Maybe I like who I am.” His words were soft, like the tiny raindrops you got before the real big, cool lightning storm moved in with cracks of thunder. “Fuzzy eyes and all.”

“You sure?” Adam frowned again, seemingly unable to understand the notion of not being _perfect_.

Brian grinned, waved to Pepper as she appeared on the horizon. “Leave him,” Brian threw his two pence in the mix. “I kinda like him the way he is too.”

II.

“But we _can’t_ ,” Wensley stressed, rubbing at his temples. “Brian, for god’s sake, put it down before we get into trouble,” he hissed. The school had taken them to a bona fide museum and while this should have been paradise for Wensleydale, he was being burdened with Brian – Adam and Pep having slipped off when Adam saw a stuffed animal that reminded him of Dog, ‘cept with glowy eyes’.

“But it’s so cool,” Brian marveled. “C’mon, Wensley, you want to hold it?”

“Brian! You’re going to break it!” Wensley warned, his voice high-strung. “You’re…”

And no sooner than Wensley had called out his warning, but Brian was stumbling and falling backwards with a precious ancient artifact in his hand. Wensley knew that it would probably cost them _years_ of allowance and there was a microscope that Wensley had his eye on. It had super magnification. Wensley darted forward, catching Brian before he fell onto the floor.

“Oof,” Wensley grunted. “Maybe you need to eat less, Brian.”

“You’re just too thin,” Brian rolled his eyes, putting the artifact on a level, safe, secure, nice shelf. “Wensley, you’re wee,” he snorted, grinning and laughing. He pushed himself out of Wensley’s arms, like he hadn’t even been precious millimetres from breaking a precious object. Wensley rubbed at his eyes. Sometimes, oh, sometimes it was frustrating being the mature one. He was responsible and conscientious and made sure that no one was _really_ that mad at the Them and he made sure that they were never in super-big trouble.

Wensley sighed. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Brian grinned. “Come on, let’s go see if we can sneak into the tombs. Pep said she would meet us there.”

Wensley went willingly, but not without an indignant pout upon his face. Sure, he was responsible and he knew how to avoid trouble. The thing was that sometimes, trouble also meant having a good time. And having a good time is often worth the trouble. After all, he was friends with Pepper, Brian, and Adam. And the Them knew how to have a lark of a good time, if nothing else.

And Wensley was that kind of boy.

III.

“I’m not talking to them,” Brian spat out. “She’s so stupid and he is too. ‘Us against them’.” He snorted. “What kind of bloody rubbish is that, anyhow?” He slammed his locker shut, turning the most perfect upturned lip upon the corridor and carrying the ever-growing pile of books in his arms. “Just cuz Pepper thinks she’s all high and mighty now. Oooh, she’s got a date for the bloody dance. La dee da, I wonder if she’d be this happy if she knew how much we had to push Adam into doing it.”

“Don’t cause trouble, Bri,” Wensley absently chastised, pushing his glasses further up as he studied the spines of the books Brian was carrying in his arms. “It will pass.”

“You heard ‘em, Wensley!” Brian scoffed, outraged. “It’ll be her and Adam ‘gainst me and you! And now it is! Stupid dance, stupid, stupid dance. You think she’ll grow out of this stupidness?”

“We’re fifteen,” Wensley said confidently, taking a few books from Brian. “We’re all going to change.”

“You think it’ll always be us ‘gainst them?” He nearly growled in his anger now. “Because I should take you then.”

“To the school dance?” Wensley voiced incredulously. They walked down the hall, dodging other students and greeting others. Somewhere down the way, Brian stopped so Wensley could adjust his tie – because Brian was nothing if not constantly slovenly about his uniform. “Brian, now _that_ is stupid!” They stopped outside the class, looking in to find Pepper chatting away with Adam and a new teacher at the front of the room – someone who looked quite familiar.

“Stupid,” Brian muttered, pushing into the class, sneering at Adam and Pepper as they went. Wensley merely rolled his eyes and sat behind Brian like he always did.

“All right, children. My name is Mr. Fell and today, we are going to learn about the history of the various Bibles…”

IV.

“No one should be lonely,” Adam declared with a righteous ring to his words – all of seventeen years old and discovering the first real bouts of ‘heartbreak’ and ‘third love’ – pacing back and forth in a straight line like a general briefing his troops. Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale all sat, their attention rapt. “People should love, people should have other people!”

Brian leaned over to Wensley. “What’s he going on about?”

“Attention, please!” Adam stopped pacing.

Brian and Wensley sat up straight, blinking innocently. They both put on their most angelic and innocent smiles – which could have been learned from Gabriel himself – and paid attention to Adam as he paced – as Brian casually slipped one hand into the back pocket of Wensley’s jeans. Wensley turned that smile over to him before they both paid attention to Adam after Pepper landed an apt – and strong, she’d be training for some boxing something or other – punch on Brian’s bicep.

“People should be in love,” Adam beamed. “We’re going to make it that way.”

*

Wensley grasped for his glasses in the morning, pushing the sheets aside and allowing them to pool in small puddles of cloth. He checked the glowing numbers on the clock and took a deep breath, surprised that he was feeling so good in the morning. He let out a quiet groan and burrowed into his pillow, enjoying the warmth at his back. “You’re still here?” he asked groggily. “Thought you’d have left hours ago, like always.”

Warm kisses at his neck tickled him. He grinned and flipped over, tracing his finger down Brian’s cheek. Brian nuzzled him with a grin, murmuring distractedly as he bit down Wensley’s neck.

“Stop,” Wensley laughed, kissing him slowly. “Think Adam was serious ‘bout what he said yesterday?”

Brian made a pleased murmur. “Don’t want to stop,” he grinned, his lanky hair falling into his eyes. “Want to kiss you, want to feed you breakfast, buy you some flowers, take you out, want to do this again. Your parents are still gone, right?”

“Right,” Wensley nodded.

“Good,” Brian flashed a mischievous grin and pinned him to the bed with kisses. “I love you,” he announced happily. “I think Adam was right.”

Somewhere, Adam Young was smiling. His plan was working.

V.

“We can go to Hell for this,” Brian lazily yawned, pushing lanky wisps of hair out of his eyes as he sat up, clutching the alarm in one hand and glancing over the bed where he had expected to find Wensleydale where he normally lied – in a very Wensleydale-like shape in the sheets, very indented by now. He yawned again, not bothering to conceal it and instead thought about nice things, like eggs sunny-side up and toast with slightly browned edges and maybe the leftover biscuits Pepper had given as her ‘traditional housewarming something or other and I don’t want these but have them’ gift. Or crisps. Brian liked crisps about as much as he liked sleeping in a bed with Wensley – which was, to be quite honest, a lot. “Or maybe Adam can give us a good…”

There was a grunt.

A Wensleydale-esque grunt.

Brian frowned and leaned over the bed to find Wensley lying quite sprawled all over the shag his Mother had insisted he put down as soon as he’d moved into the new flat. “Why’re you down there?” he cocked his head to the side. “You like the carpet more ‘en me?” Brian sighed melodramatically. “I knew there would come a day.”

“Why were you mumbling about Hell?” Wensley asked, his voice fuzzy as he reached for his glasses on the nightstand – succeeding after three valiant tries – and crawling back on _top_ of the bed, dominating it for mankind once more. “Did you get a call from one of those preacher sorts?”

“No,” Brian commented distractedly, running his hands through his hair. “Jus’ thinking about last night. And how we could go to Hell. Witches go, goat-sacrificing people go, loud talkers at the cinema go. What about us? You think we go?”

Wensley hid his smirk. “You were going to say that we should try and get Adam to put in a good word for us.”

“Yeah,” Brian remarked defensively. “I meant on the good side. That Mr. Fell, he’s always swooping ‘round and chatting with Adam about books and bibles and apocalypses and tea. He’s got that look.”

“That look?”

“Yeah! That look like he knows more to it than we give ‘im credit for,” Brian said.

Wensley adjusted his glasses and settled back into his well-formed dent. “Sometimes, I think you know more than we give you credit for,” he commented lazily, slowly falling back to sleep. “We’re not going to Hell. And if we are, it’s not for this. It’ll be for torturing all the poor adults in Lower Tadfield for years upon years upon years.”

Brian laughed, lying down and burrowing his face into Wensley’s neck. “You make it sound like we’ve stopped.”

Brian and Wensley, of course, knew different. They knew very differently.

The Them would never sacrifice the act of having fun, torturing older adults, and having a good time, no matter how they grew up.

END


End file.
